Vampire in the Scrying Glass

Robin

Chapter One

He needed to get his head back in the game.

Rafe Blautsauger—vampire enforcer—stared in disbelief at the narrow crack in the rock face. Somehow, he’d totally missed it, and if not for a timely gesture from his partner, he would have simply walked by. John’s neutral expression never altered, but Rafe knew it fell on him. As lead it was his responsibility to spot every nook and cranny large enough to hold the enemy. Beating down his anger, he nodded, and with the ease of long familiarity, the team split up to approach the opening from opposite sides.

This time they lucked out. The small cave was empty. It would have been an embarrassing epitaph if a Toltec vampire got the drop on them while he was stewing over a female—and a human one at that.

Maybe I’ve lost it, Rafe muttered in lieu of an apology.

And maybe you never had it, kid, John slugged his shoulder in a brotherly fashion. The taunt—meant to lighten things up—gave Rafe a way to pass things off. But he couldn’t. As one of the unit’s youngest enforcers, they both knew he was one of the best because he worked the hardest.

Look, John added gruffly, no one expects you to be Superman, or rather Supervamp, all the time. Don’t sweat it. He picked up a couple of pebbles, and tossed one to Rafe before skipping the other across the river.

I should have seen the damn cave.

And I said cut yourself some slack. After what happened, you’re still finding your balance.

Rafe studied the small, flat rock in his hand. It all worked out, but I don’t believe the Toltecs gave up after one battle. Holding up a hand, he stopped John from disputing. I don’t care what Commander Leto says.

You’re entitled, the older vampire responded mildly. Using both hands, he dug at the new growth of hair on his chin. Itches like a bitch, he complained.

Rafe grinned. The first stage of John’s beard was pitiful looking. Why don’t you give it up and shave? That scraggly shit doesn’t improve your looks any.

Casually, John flipped up his middle finger. The ladies think it looks distinguished.

Maybe the blind ones. Amused, Rafe flicked his wrist, sent his stone bouncing across the water. Absently he counted the hops before it sank—seven. Well that was downright pitiful.

After fishing a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, John settled down on the bank to light up. Rafe didn’t bother to complain knowing the nasty habit was a holdover from his partner’s former human days. However, he couldn’t stop snickering again when John resumed scratching. Catching himself, the vamp dropped his hand with a muttered curse. I think you’re hung up waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Maybe. Something’s gonna happen, Rafe predicted darkly. But who really knew? Perhaps John was right, and he hadn’t gotten his balance back from the wild ride of the previous year. It was still hard to believe how close the Toltecs, a rival vampire faction, had come to destroying his family, and instigating a territorial war.

The Toltec plot to use his brother’s stolen blood sample and leave a stunt trapped between the human and vampire worlds had been discovered in the nick of time. Cailey, the poor girl left in the half-life, had been near death when Gabe found and successfully finished her turning. But it hadn’t ended there. Just when they thought the crisis averted, she’d been kidnapped, and held at the Amber Heights RootBeer Bottling Plant.

While imprisoned she’d discovered the Blautsauger patriarch. Tortured, overdosed with blood thinners, and bleeding out, he’d been barely clinging to life. Rafe owed Cailey an unpayable debt for saving his father.

What about the girl?

The question pulled him back to the present. There was no need to ask whom John meant. What about her?

Still not admitting you’re hung up on her? And pissed off about it?

What do you think? He failed to keep the annoyance out of his tone. Picking up another rock, he zinged it across the river.

Amid all the danger and drama it had been meeting Morgan Maguire, the human Nil and Cailey’s friend, which affected him the most. Moon-kissed skin, with a hint of rose riding high cheekbones had bowled him over. Begging the question, did the same ivory and pink color combination also adorn the perky breasts so nicely filling out her sweater? His dick, he recalled, had twitched in immediate interest as he longed to find out. Thick masses of dark hair tumbled past her shoulders just begging for his fingers to tangle in the strands. If he cupped the back of her head would those big, stormy gray eyes widen even more? Would she moan if he licked her? Would her blood taste sweet or tart?

After Cailey accidentally gave away their vampire nature. She didn’t seem to have the sense to be afraid of him. Brave—almost foolishly so. She’d tried to annihilate him with rapid-fired insults, her tongue laden with caustic attitude and snarky wit.

He liked to think her defiance proved she also felt the heat sizzling between them. It had certainly seared him with all the pulsing energy of a supernova. He’d stopped that maddening mouth, he remembered with the utmost satisfaction, by kissing her senseless.

Any desire he’d felt to see if the spark might ignite into flames had been snuffed out—when Cassiopeia, head of the Nosferatu council and his new stepmother, intervened. In accordance with Nosferatu law, she had Morgan mesmerized. With unwarranted pride, Rafe remembered it had taken a tribunal of three of their most powerful to accomplish the deed.

Now Morgan no longer remembered anything about vampires…or him. Didn’t remember that instant connection. In her mind he’d been relegated to nothing more than a slight acquaintance and Cailey’s future brother-in-law.

Just thinking about it made him bitter.

Having a meaningful relationship with a Nil isn’t easy, John spoke up once more breaking into his reverie.

Barking out a harsh sound, Rafe straightened. That’s an understatement. Impossible is more like—too many lies. He didn’t need John, or anyone, to warn him of the pitfalls of a vamp/Nil hook-up. He’d watched too many couples crash and burn because their relationship was based on a foundation of deceit. Nosferatu law effectively tied a vamp’s hands by stating the human had to remain ignorant of their vampire nature. After only a decade or so, when the lack of aging became noticeable, the vamp was then required to leave.

Such relationships became even more hazardous if the Nil did become aware. Once cognizant, the partner was either mesmerized or the couple was forced to hide out. And in these modern times of Big Brother, instant communication, and easy travel it was almost impossible to stay hidden. They’d always be on the run, trying to stay a step ahead.

If—no when—the enforcers caught them the vampire would be brutally punished. Their mate would undergo a mind wipe, and all memory of their vampire lover obliterated. That was actually an improvement. In the olden days the humanoid would have been exterminated.

According to the council, the preferred option was to turn the human partner into vampire—while still unaware. Rafe felt such a practice archaic, unethical, and problematic. Especially when there were instances of extended family. In Morgan’s case, she happened to be an only child and close to her folks. Could he turn her without prior consent, without her understanding all the ramifications? Even if he believed—which he didn’t—that she could turn her back on the parents she loved and never contact them again…could he ask it of her? No. In his heart, he knew he couldn’t.

And he needed to stop that train of thought. He was in lust, not love. They’d only shared a few words and one stolen kiss. None of which she now remembered. So what was he doing worrying about a future for them?

What’s the plan? John stood to indicate the break was over.

I’m not going to do anything.

You okay with that?

Was he? Sure. For Rafe, Morgan would remain forbidden fruit.

Glad we had this talk. John extinguished his cigarette and tucked the butt into his back pocket.

Cleared the air, Rafe agreed. He understood what had been left unsaid. It could cost one of them their lives if he continued to moon about. It had been John’s way of telling him, he needed to get over it, and concentrate on the job at hand. Needed to remember a blood-drained hiker in their sector was the catalyst of that night’s hunt.

Which meant he should have been even more vigilant than normal.

As part of the clean-up patrols, they’d been routing out rag-tag remnants of the Toltec unit for the past year. The ones they hadn’t managed to kill or capture, during the battle at the bottling plant, had fled into the surrounding hills. Burrowed into the bluffs and caves along the Amber River, a few stragglers were still loose, and preying on the local populace.

They walked around a bend in the river where it ran slow and deep and wide. It formed a natural swimming hole with cliffs towering on one side and a wide gravel bar bordering the other. A rope dangling from a high tree limb on an overhanging bluff, gave silent testimony to the fortitude of some enterprising soul, and provided proof of the place’s popularity. It made the spot particularly attractive to Toltecs wanting to prey on humans.

A diligent search came up empty.

Let’s split up so we can get more ground covered, John spit as he studied the terrain. I’ll head up this tributary. Waving a hand, he showed his intended route. Circle up and around. You take the main branch here. We’ll meet at Low Water Bridge in, say, about an hour?

Rafe nodded and continued walking. It was close to forty-five minutes later when he noticed another break in the stone face. It didn’t look like much, just a narrow crevice running along the base. Most likely it was nothing. But after his earlier screw-up, he better check it out.

Training and innate stealth let him move noiselessly as he approached the opening. He didn’t like the situation. To see inside he’d be forced down on his belly, and into a vulnerable position.

Cautiously he got into position and peered in the hole.

Pay dirt! Squeezed into the tiny cave was a rather scrawny and bedraggled-looking vampire.

Come on out, Rafe invited cordially while remaining careful to keep some distance from the entrance. Nights are getting colder, but there’s a nice warm bed and plenty of blood at the station. His kind offer was rudely met by a flying rock—gut instinct had Rafe dodging in the nick of time. Scrambling out of range, he regarded the fist-sized stone. It was a clear indicator the guy wasn’t going to cooperate. It also proved the Toltec wasn’t as tightly wedged in as he first appeared.

Options were limited. Crawling in after the vamp didn’t even make the list. Without a doubt his face would be torn off before he could get halfway inside. Well if he couldn’t go in he’d simply have to persuade the other guy to come out.

Keeping up an easy running dialogue about the advantages of surrender, Rafe gathered a little pile of dried leaves, small twigs, and thumb-sized sticks. After setting his lighter to the kindling, he pulled off his jacket, and used it to waft hazy plumes of smoke into the crevice. It only took a moment before he heard the Toltec coughing.

Air getting thick in there? Rafe genially called as he settled downwind to wait him out. From his vantage point he could appreciate the acrid scent of the fire as it filled the crisp autumn night and mixed with the symphony of distant babbling rapids. The stars twinkled. It was downright peaceful.

A few minutes later something disturbed his mood. Not bothering to question the sense that alerted him to company, he shifted to the balls of his feet. Staying crouched low, he tensed for attack. His eyes intently tracking the area, they ran over a small stand of trees a few yards away. Moved on and then came back. Held. Come on out, he commanded.

You got the eyes and ears of a damn cat, John muttered, as he came out from behind the grove and joined his partner. Smelled smoke. Wanted to get the lowdown before giving away my presence.

I could hear you scratching— Rafe broke off, knocked John back a step just as a flying stake whistled by. Though his quick action saved John from a more severe injury the weapon still managed to nick his partner’s ear.

At the same time a large, burly vamp lumbered out of the shadows. With a speed belying his bulk, he flung more stakes in quick succession. Rafe and John evaded the attack but it gave the trapped Toltec the opportunity to army-crawl out of his smoky hole.

Still wheezing, the smaller vamp hurled his own weapon. The sharp slick of pain registered as wood punctured his flesh. Luckily it missed the heart, embedding deeply into the muscle just below his left shoulder. Rafe looked down in disgust. The end of the spike still quivered from where it protruded. It not only hurt like a mother but the location was a bit too close to a vampire’s most vital organ for comfort.

The hit energized the two Toltecs. Flush with the success of drawing first blood, they howled their pleasure, and continued to circle threateningly. In a defensive move, the Nosferatu enforcers turned so their backs were to each other.

Rafe got his first good look at their foes. See what we got here. It’s Mutt and Jeff. He held up a finger in warning when he saw the larger Toltec was still armed. Now Mutt, do you really want to die tonight? Drop the stake, and you can have a nice warm bed and a bellyful of blood back at the station.

Unfortunately the big lug seemed less swayed by the promised treats and more offended by the nickname. Puffing out his chest, he thumped it while declaring in heavily accented English, I am no mutt.

Rafe threw back his head and roared with laughter. "I meant Mutt and Jeff, he explained. With his hand he gestured between the two divergently sized vampires. Fellas. He raised a brow at their continued confusion. Don’t you remember the comic strip? Came out in the early 1900s, it ran for most of seventy-five years. See, Mutt was this big, ah, dimwitted guy, and Jeff was his little buddy. Don’t know it? Huh, well you missed out. He gave a disappointed shake of his head. Your loss. Good stuff."

No worries, John contributed, they can check it out at the station.

Keeping close watch on their body language, Rafe easily predicted the next moves. Mutt had slightly lowered his mammoth head and was shaking it like a bull facing a matador’s red cape. He was planning on rushing him. Meanwhile, Jeff brandished another stake and was waiting for a clear shot.

Sure enough Mutt made his move coming in low and rapid. Rafe countered with a roundhouse kick to the chin. Momentarily stunned, the big guy’s eyes clouded as he teetered about on trunk-sized legs.

Jerking the stake out of his shoulder, Rafe immediately realized he’d made a strategic error. The sight and smell of blood dripping from his wound only served to intensify the Toltecs’ bloodlust. It was obvious they were hungry and mean with it.

Mutt rubbed his jaw. You gonna pay for that, pretty boy. I’ll suck you dry.

Joining in the fray the smaller Toltec pulled out a knife and lunged quickly. He managed to prick the side of John’s neck before dancing back. Holding up the blade, he made a big production out of licking off the red smear.

This one here? Jeff pointed his knife at John. He not so pretty, but he’s well fed, and his blood tastes clean.

Tonight we enjoy fine dining, eh, amigo? Mutt sneered.

Five star, just like Emeril Lagasse—bam, kick it up a notch. Jeff giggled, high pitched and stupid.

Rafe grinned though he suspected Mutt’s witticism had been purely accidental. However, he enjoyed the humor as much as the fight. In fact, the trash talk was fast becoming the evening’s highlight and had succeeded in breaking through his pensive mood. It wasn’t until Jeff’s inane laughter continued longer than the meager joke warranted that Rafe finally got a clue about the vampire’s physical state.

Hey, it’s not that funny, he objected lightly. Moving until he could better assess the vamp’s eyes, he saw the Toltec’s pupils were dilated. He was high on something. Portable meth labs were a problem in the area, popping up and then disappearing almost as quickly. Consequently it was quite feasible the two had been getting most of their meals off the druggies. It added an unpredictable element to the fight Rafe found he also could appreciate.

Life needed a few surprises.

Just to wind them up and knowing it would insult them, Rafe made a goading motion for them to get a move on. John grunted, rolling his eyes at the showboating, but at the same time he readied for attack. Sure enough it came quickly. With a roar at the perceived slur the pair converged on the enforcers. Mutt managed to sweep John’s feet out from under him. They fell to the ground grappling, fists flying, and legs kicking across the gravel bar.

Jeff rushed forward, knife held gut level. Grabbing his wrist, Rafe managed to change the weapon’s trajectory, and averted a stab to the abdomen. Instead the sharp tip slid through the bottom of the decal on his vintage concert tee. Unable to completely stop the blade’s forward momentum, it continued upward, shallowly slicing the skin underneath as the sound of ripping cloth filled the air.

Aw, hell, I liked this shirt. Rafe considered the mangled tee in disgust. Presently, it not only bore a bloody hole in the shoulder area, it was ripped from stem to stern. I got this in Kansas City, Journey’s ’83 Frontier Concert Tour.

It’s a rag now, Jeff sneered, and Journey sucked.

You shitting me? Rafe demanded in surprise. He threw a glance over his shoulder at John who was currently being pummeled by Mutt. You hearing this?

Pitching his voice, he began to sing. A few beats later John joined in though he was slightly breathless from Mutt’s weight on his diaphragm.

Their harmony sounded surprisingly good together. ‘A stranger in a smoky room, A smell of wine and cheap perfume.’

Just what part of that sucks? Rafe challenged argumentatively.

Yeah, it’s beautiful, John agreed solemnly. Taking advantage of how his singing had distracted Mutt, he got a hand free, and ruthlessly poked him in the eye.

It’s poetry, Rafe continued, to belabor his point, sheer poetry.

Funny, that set Jeff off again into another bout of giggles.

Get a move on, John growled at Rafe as he made his move. Brutally, he bashed a hefty rock into the side of Mutt’s head. They aren’t listening to reason.

Rafe slammed the stake he’d pulled from his shoulder into Jeff’s heart. The skinny vamp’s eyes went wide and then dead. Should’ve had more respect for the shirt, Rafe commented as Jeff hit the ground with a lifeless thud.

Got some cuffs? John rolled Mutt over and pressed a knee into his back.

Rafe handed him vamp-proof, feronium metal handcuffs. Lightly, he asked the dazed-looking mammoth, Do you want to weigh in on the subject? Share your feelings on one of my favorite bands?

Instead, the big bloke made a break for it. Before John could get both wrists secured, he plowed to his feet, knocking John over.

With a sigh of long suffering, Rafe caught the stake John tossed him, and executed a flying leap onto the vamp’s back. Mutt bucked, performing a darned good impression of a wild bronco. Doing his own imitation, Rafe clung like a tick. Finally, he managed to reach over the Toltec’s shoulder and plunged the pointed spike into his chest. As wood penetrated heart muscle, Mutt dropped—a dead weight—taking Rafe down with him.

For a couple of minutes Rafe just laid there—hurting—more bruised and bloodied than he cared to admit. Gradually he sat up, absently rolled aching shoulders while again considering his torn shirt. The little Toltec had been right. The souvenir which once brought back good memories now belonged in the rag bag.

John followed his gaze. Might find a replacement on the internet.

With a shake of his head, Rafe discarded the idea. Moving painfully, he got up and kicked gravel over what was left of his smoldering fire. Wouldn’t be the same.

I hear you. John nodded. He continued to sit in the dirt while Rafe used his cell phone to call Headquarters. They would send somebody to collect the bodies.

Biting off a groan, John gingerly got to his feet. Determined not to betray any weakness, the partners pointedly avoided looking at each other. Then with John limping on his left leg and Rafe favoring his right, they painfully shuffled on their way.

A couple of hours later, as the sun rose and the parking lot lights winked out, Rafe stood—his morning vigil—in the shadow of the medical clinic. He wondered which Morgan he’d see. If she walked out with Cailey, she’d be laughing and talking. On the days she left alone, her head and shoulders would be bent as if she carried the weight of the world.

A few moments later he heard the sounds of light feminine chatter. It was a good day. She was happy. She was safe.

Content, he headed home. He would sleep well.

Chapter Two

Caught in a slumberous grip, Morgan fought the dream’s hold. Struggled against the terrible undertow inexorably forcing her down the emotional well of the past. She didn’t want to relive the horror.

With a low moan of despair, she was helplessly sucked into the vortex of her worst nightmare.

Once again she saw herself back in Ireland, a young child standing in the center of her first circle of power…Hands lifted to the sky in supplication, the sleeves of her white ceremonial robe fell back exposing scrawny arms decorated with a couple of cartoon bandages. She hadn’t really needed the colorful bandages, but she’d enjoyed her mother’s care and attention as her tiny scrapes had been tended and kissed better.

That didn’t change the fact the little witch was currently pissed off—really pissed.

She’d recently overhead a coven member utter the phrase, and had liked it enough to ask her mother what it meant. After a brief hesitation, followed by a tiny sigh, her mom explained it was a vulgar saying meaning a person was annoyed or angry. She’d then emphasized the term was inappropriate language for little girls. Even little girls with adult-size brains.

Privately, Morgan judged it to perfectly describe how she felt.

So what if it was Samhain Eve? It was also Halloween and her sixth birthday. Weren’t they more important? She knew which she wanted to be celebrating, and it definitely wasn’t standing out in the small glen with her grandmother while everyone else got to trick-or-treat. She’d planned on dressing up as a fairy, complete with sparkling, gossamer wings, and gorging on candy.

Instead she was dressed like her grandmother’s mini-me though her long, white robe was plain. Her grandmother also had a belt of heavy silver links girding her waist, and her legendary moonstone on a fine chain about her neck. The pale, ethereal stone, the size of an English walnut, fascinated Morgan as it faintly shimmered in the moonlight exposing hints of blue and red in its depths.

Even at the age of six, Morgan understood she was particularly gifted. Extremely intelligent, she learned quickly, and often knew things before others did. She could retain stuff she’d seen, heard, or read only once. Members of the coven called her brilliant. Born on such an auspicious day, with a caul over her face, they’d predicted she’d be an even more powerful witch than her grandmother.

Yet, in spite of being gifted both supernaturally and mentally, no one listened to her. Hadn’t she already explained to her parents and grandmother this test would fail? She’d told them her psychic senses had been twitching and pinching all day. It didn’t seem to matter—her gran insisted it was only a simple indoctrination. She instructed Morgan to put on her robe and follow her to the sacred spot.

It started out well enough. As coached, she threw the hazelnut, still clasped in its leafy wrapper, into the small spring at the edge of the glen. The water bubbled up, which she saw pleased her gran. She said it was a good omen showing all the mystical forces in the area were enhanced.

Her grandmother, Rhiamon, should know since she was considered the greatest witch of the century. Everyone seemed in awe of her. In fact, a lot of the other witches acted afraid of her, but to Morgan she was simply Gran.

Still she was smart enough not to cross her.

Since she didn’t have a choice, she hoped to get the casting over with as soon as possible. Wishing her gran would get a move on, she tried to pay attention as the old woman intoned, The Celts always understood the dark and dying times. The necessity for the earth to sleep and rejuvenate. Tonight we honor the Goddess for the coming silence, knowing the ground rests after the harvest. After which comes the first stirring of the seed, new life sprouts to sustain us. The cycle of birth and death our only constants.

Morgan legs soon tired and she fidgeted. Instantly, a reproving eye fell on her. To be successful, Morgan, you must ready your mind. Careful! Don’t step on the glass.

The mysterious black mirror, about the size of her mom’s lunch plates, lay in the middle of the salt-ring on top of its protective purple silk wrapper. Uneasy, she glanced down at it. The thing frightened her. She wanted to